


Party Animal

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-03-23
Updated: 2000-03-23
Packaged: 2018-11-11 03:24:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11140113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police parties down.





	Party Animal

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Party Animal

## Party Animal

by Leslie Crismond

* * *

_Thanks yet again to the amazing eagle-eyed Jills, Supreme Editor (she makes me call her this.) Actually, her suggestions and insights are invaluable, but let's not tell her that._

Ray looked at his watch. If it wasn't for the fact that all the party-goers were cops, this shindig would have been shut down. He could hear the revelry while he was still blocks away. He shook his head. Judging from the volume, it would take an armed detachment of the National Guard to restore order. Ray yawned. It had been a long night. He would collect his partner and head home ASAP. That was assuming, of course, that his partner, Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, hadn't already fled the demented chaos Ray expected to find inside the house. 

It had been a big day at Chicago's 27th Precinct. A long-term, multi-team investigation had paid off in spades with the arrest of one of the city's most notorious drug traffickers. The dragnet had also pulled in a major shipment of cocaine with a street-value close to three million dollars. A well-liked vice cop had lost his life during the six month long undercover operation so there was an additional sense of satisfaction in nailing this particular drug lord. Everyone wanted to celebrate, hence the party. 

Detective Stanley Raymond Kowalski, aka Detective Ray Vecchio, had planned on joining the fun hours earlier, except a snitch he was working with on a frustrating string of warehouse robberies insisted on a meet. It had been tempting to blow off the face-to-face, but the warehouse businesses were bringing a lot of pressure to bear on the department. Ray knew Lieutenant Welsh needed a quick resolution. The detective figured he owed the lieutenant at least a couple of hours. 

'Yowza, that's some party,' he thought as a squad car careened past him and drove up on the lawn of Detective first grade Bryan Dooley's house. Three car doors crashed open and the driver and passengers spilled out with their arms full of six packs. "Got more brewskies!" one of them screamed and staggered off towards the front porch. Ray could see someone puking in the bushes by the side of the house. "Chicago's finest," he muttered and then shrugged. 'They deserve some fun. It's been a nasty six months, especially since Tony went down.' 

A knot of men were standing by the front walk laughing raucously and waving beer bottles in the air as they recounted some event. "Hey, Vecchio!" 

"What's happenin, guys?" Ray countered. 

"Swell party. We really nailed that sonofabitch, didn't we? His ass won't see light of day for a long, long time." 

"Amen to that," Ray agreed. 

"Hey, where you been, Vecchio? You shoulda been here earlier," another guy interjected. 

"Had to follow a hot lead, but I'm here now and needing something wet and cold. Catch ya later," Ray said heading up the walk. 

"Hey, Vecchio, that's some partner you have!" 

'Uh oh,' Ray thought, 'Hang on, Fraser. The calvary is here to save you.' Ray could just imagine how the straight-laced Mountie would be reacting to the unbridled, drunken antics of the Chicago PD. Actually, Ray wasn't sure which side would find the situation more awkward. 'Love you like a brother, Fraser, but you can be kind of a wet blanket. Inuit stories don't really sit well with guys soaking their brain cells in 80 proof.' Ray hurried up the walk to the front door. 

As he cracked open the door, the noise slammed into him like a physical punch to the head. 'The joint is jumpin all right,' he thought as he pushed his way through a cluster of people crammed into the entryway. He heard someone call his name, but couldn't see who had hailed him. Some unknown person thrust a cold unopened bottle of beer into Ray's hand and gave him a drunken salute before staggering out the front door. "Uh, thanks, man," Ray hollered at the retreating back. 

He bogged down in a clutch of bodies pressed into the doorway of what looked like a living room. The room itself was no less crammed with people. 'If Fraser's in there, I'll never find him,' he thought helplessly. Heads bounced and jived to some throbbing, heavy-on-the-bass hard rock music, but none of the heads sported a RCMP stetson. 

Crowd momentum carried Ray further back into the house. "Party's this way," squealed one of the rookie violent crimes cops and the group Ray was wedged into surged forward. He managed to inject himself into a dining room area with only marginally more breathing room. There was still no bewildered Canadian Mountie cringing in the corners, but Ray did see Tom Dewey glad handing a bunch of veterans from vice. 

"Hey, Dewey! Dewey! Didja see Fraser? Ya know where Fraser is?" Ray wasn't sure Dewey understood him with the noise, but the other man gave him a negative shrug and resumed his schmoozing. Ray did find a church key and popped the top on his bottle. The cold liquid revived him somewhat and he braved another foray into the hall so he could explore other parts of the house. 

"Whoa, what are ya doin back there?" Ray tried to twist around to see who had goosed him. Several flushed faces smiled back at him, but he couldn't figure out which belonged to the perp. He felt another stab of sympathy for Fraser. The guy was a chick magnet anyway and in this crowd would be lucky to escape with his honor still in tact. 'I'm coming, buddy. Uncle Ray will get you out of here.' 

More music pounded out of the back of the house. This had more of a Latin flavor and the detective found himself propelled in that direction. The kitchen loomed up ahead. Ray could just barely see a spacious family room to the left of that. 

"Glad you could make it!" a voice boomed in his ear. 

Ray looked up into the grinning face of Jack Huey. "Yeah, me too. Seen Fraser?" Ray shouted. 

Huey's grin got wider and he pointed to the family room area. Ray peered into the room, but didn't immediately see his partner among the gyrating bodies. This was apparently the designated dancing arena and Ray found his eyes drawn to the slithering forms of several females sensuously swaying into a macarena type dance. 'Nice moves,' Ray whistled appreciatively under his breath. 

He reluctantly pulled his eyes away and scanned the edges of the crowd for Fraser. 'The poor Mountie's probably shell shocked,' he thought as a vision of Fraser, standing in a corner ram-rod straight and wide-eyed, flashed into his head.. 'Welcome to life in the fast-lane, Benton-buddy.' Ray's eyes roved the faces marking the perimeter of the room. He took long sip of beer and found himself pushed further into the room. Once again, he turned toward the lovely ladies and admired their sinewy moves. 'Go, mama.' 

The dancers separated slightly and Ray found himself looking at someone who looked remarkably like Fraser except this look-alike had a cigarette dangling out of his mouth, a drink in one hand and was moving as seductively as his female counterparts. Ray blinked. 'It can't be Fraser. I've seen the guy dance. He moves like a block of wood.' 

Ray forced himself to look away and tried again to ferret his partner out of the surrounding crowd. A strong fist pounded him on the shoulder. Ray whirled around to discover the rosy countenance of Richie Vey leering at him. "Hey, Vecchio, looks like your partner's really cut loose. We all thought he had a stick permanently lodged up his ass." Ray instantly went defensive and spit out a "F___k, you." before Richie got reabsorbed by the milling crowd. 

Ray's attention snapped back to the dancers just as the music segued into a hot salsa style number. The Fraser clone tossed back his drink, handed off his glass and placed his hands on his dance partner's hips. Another female slid behind him and used her hands to direct his swaying hips. The three moved in perfect rhythm. It was then that Ray noticed the unmistakable striping and goofy bulging of RCMP issue jodhpurs. 

"Good God, it is Fraser," Ray took a hasty swallow of beer and looked at his partner in dumbfounded amazement. The Mountie moved with a silky grace that was mesmerizing. Completely swept up in the music, he danced with fluid abandon, the perfect vortex of swirling sexuality. Ray was suddenly grateful that Francesca Vecchio, his would-be sister, had chosen this week to make her annual pilgrimage to the Florida sunshine. 'If Frannie got a load of this....', he shuddered at the thought and quickly sucked down another mouthful of brew. 

Just when Ray thought he'd better find a hose to cool down the dancing threesome, the music wound down and Fraser and his partners collapsed laughing into each other's arms. "Thank you, kindly," the Mountie said gallantly to his partners and drew both women into a hug. Fraser's cigarette hung threateningly above the dark, sleek head of the woman snugged under his left arm. "Need more cider," he announced, his mouth expertly twisting around the cigarette. The women giggled and hugged him tighter, unwilling to lose their prize possession. 

As the Mountie looked around in search of liquid refreshment, he caught sight of Ray and broke into an ear-to-ear grin. "Ray!! That's Ray, my partner!" he yelled, dragging his fellow dancers toward the blond haired detective. 

"Ray," Fraser intoned happily when he finally churned his way to the space in front of his friend. 

"Hiya, Fraser," Ray said. "Having fun?" 

"Why, yes, I am," the Mountie responded, "but I need more cider," he added plaintively. His hair had flopped down on his forehead and a light sheen of perspiration glistened on his skin. He beamed down at his two charges. "Worked up quite a thirst," he smiled. The women twittered appreciatively and snuggled closer. 

The smoke from the cigarette was curling up Ray's nose and in irritation, the detective snatched the offending weed out of Fraser's mouth and dropped it into his nearly empty beer bottle. 

"Hey," the Mountie protested. One of the woman murmured her own objection. 

"Fraser, you don't smoke," Ray huffed. 

"I don't?" The Mountie seemed genuinely surprised. "Oh, well, then.....have you seen Detective Dewey?" Fraser looked around the room. "He's got my special cider," Ben clarified. 

"Special cider, Fraser? What is that?" Ray squinted at his partner suspiciously. 

"The apples come from Kentucky, I think he said. His uncle Jim grows them. A little hard and tangy, but they grow on you, " The Mountie continued his scan. 

Ray doubted cider gave off that distinctive whiskey aroma he was detecting on his partner's breath. "Uh, Fraser, did this uncle have a last name, like maybe, Beam?" 

"Why, yes, Ray, I believe that was the name Detective Dewey mentioned. You've sampled his uncle's cider as well?" 

"Oh, yeah, Fraser. Oh, yeah." 

The music changed again into another driving, up-tempo Latin number and the woman on the right bumped her hip meaningfully into Fraser's. "Benito, baby!" she cried in an exaggerated fake Spanish accent. She grabbed his arm and pulled him back toward the center of the dance area. The other woman latched onto his free arm. Fraser managed a brief wave and glided back onto the dance floor, easily slipping into the serpentine moves demanded by the music. Soon, he and his lady friends commanded the attention of the crowd which moved back to give the dancers room to flaunt their sensuous interpretation of the song. 

Ray sighed and considered the warring sides of his conscience. He didn't know whether to appreciate the fact that Fraser was enjoying himself or worry about the possible consequences of too much fun on a body unused to wild indulgences. Ray had to concede that there was something irresistible about watching his normally prudish partner operate without restraints. 'Oh, hell, I'm not your mother. Go for it, buddy. We'll mop up later. I'll watch yer back and make sure those wanton women don't molest you.' That decided, Ray relaxed and leaned back against the wall to watch his partner and best friend continue to wow and amaze their fellow officers. 

Knowing that he was tired and that eventually, he'd have to take himself and the Canadian party animal back to their respective homes, Ray allowed himself only one more beer. He was asked out on the dance floor many times and thought he did a pretty smooth job. Latin music wasn't his first choice, but he was light on his feet and knew how to let his body respond to the beat. 'Fraser, uh, Beniiittooo, may be the Salsa King, but I've still got finessssssee and look pretty damn good out here,' Ray thought with pride. He fingered the two scraps of paper in his pants' pocket. 'I also have some new admirers' phone numbers.' 

Although, Ray never saw Fraser with Dewey, the Mountie seemed to have found a supply of his "special cider" which he drank liberally after every third or fourth twirl around the dance floor. By the end of the night, Fraser was entertaining those partygoers who were still conscious, with risque little ditties and ribald camp songs. Ray was willing to bet his partner would be sick with embarrassment, not to mention other things, if he remembered any of this in the morning. 

When 3:00 rolled around, Ray decided that was the magic hour. "Come on, Benito, baby, it's time for all good little Mounties to head home," Ray sing-songed, grabbing his partner's arm and prying him away from his two clinging female admirers. The detective pulled him toward the hallway. 

"But, Raaay, I haven't told them the one about the young lady from Joussard," Fraser objected. 

"That's right, you haven't," Ray admitted, continuing to haul the Mountie into the hall. 

"It's a very good poem," Fraser declared solemnly. 

"Yeah, I'm sure it is, Fraser," Ray agreed. 

"Wait, Ray, my hat, my tunic." 

"Got'em, buddy." The detective had earlier unearthed Fraser's hat and red serge from a pile of debris in the living room and had them safely stowed in a closet by the front door. 

"Wait, Ray, I should say good-night and thank my host," Fraser decided. 

"Do you have a clue who that is, Fraser?" Ray asked indulgently. 

The Mountie stopped and looked perplexed. "Well, no, Ray." 

"Didn't think so." Ray steered his charge through the gaping front door, stopping only long enough to snag Fraser's hat and serge. 

The cool night air had an interesting effect on the Mountie. Perhaps fortified by the boozy, smoke-filled air and buoyed by the excitement of the party, the Canadian had not acted particularly drunk while he was in the house. He was uninhibited, yes, but not sloppy drunk. Once outside, though, the fresh air seemed to bring on all the symptoms of inebriation. 

"Come on, Fraser, the car's this way," Ray directed, plunking the Stetson on its owner's head. 

The Mountie stood swaying, as if dazed. 

"Earth to Fraser," Ray waved a hand in front of his partner's face. 

"Ray! I seem to have lost my bearings, perhaps you could direct me to your car," Fraser enunciated every word very carefully. 

"Yeah, this way, Columbus," Ray said, grabbing one of the Mountie's suspenders and tugging him down the front walk. 

When they reached the sidewalk, Ray went left and Fraser went right. Fraser's suspender stretched ominously tight. 

"Ray, the car is this way," the Mountie maintained, pulling hard against the detective's grip. 

"Fraser, I'm parked two blocks down this way." Ray corrected, not daring to release the suspender in case he twanged Fraser into the next block. 

"Ray, I distinctly remember the moon was in the 3rd quadrant above the horizon when we parked. That means the car is this way. " 

"Well, that may be, Galileo, but you rode over with the Duck Boys. I am parked down this way." 

"Oh....well...okay then," Fraser agreed meekly and stumbled along after his partner. 

They had just cleared the first block, when the Mountie pulled up short and started looking around. 

"What's wrong, Fraser?" Ray asked. "Did the moon slip a quadrant or somethin?" 

"I have to urinate, Ray. I'm looking for the proper facilities," the Canadian announced. 

"Tell you what, buddy, there are no proper facilities out here. Just find a tree or bush or something," Ray suggested tolerantly. 

"Ray!" exclaimed Fraser, scandalized. "This is a residential neighborhood, that would be improper." 

The detective shrugged. "When you gotta go, you gotta go, Benton-buddy." Ray started scanning the various lawns for an appropriately secluded piece of foliage. "There, next house down, by the driveway. How about that?" 

Ray spun around when he heard a tell-tale splash. 'Oh, shit, Fraser!" 

The Mountie was relieving himself against a mailbox. 

"What are you doin? You consider that proper? You'll get us arrested," Ray yelped. 

'I hardly think so, Ray. It's a natural bodily function that...." 

"That you do in the privacy of your home," Ray cut him off. 

"But I'm not at home, Ray," Fraser reasoned. 

"We're going to take care of that. Come on, Fraser, let's get you to the car," urged Ray, hustling his partner down the remaining block. 

Once in the car, Fraser slumped against the seat with his eyes closed. "I'm feeling rather tired, Ray. I'm just going to rest my eyes for a minute." 

"Yeah, that's good, Frase. You rest." Ray leaned over and snapped his partner's seatbelt into place. He took a minute to examine the disheveled Mountie before starting the car. 

'If I take him back to the Consulate, Turnbull will go berserk and run around like a chicken with his head cut off. If the Ice Queen sees her favorite whipping boy in this state, it'll be Fraser's head that's cut off and mine, too, just cuz. I did say I would do mop up, if needed.' Ray reached around and started the GTO. "Home, James," he declared. 

They were about three blocks from Ray's apartment when Fraser suddenly roused. 

"Oh, look, sleeping beauty is awake," Ray chuckled. 

"Uh, Ray, I don't feel so good," the Mountie interjected. 

"Shit, Fraser, you toss yer cookies in my car and I'll kick you in the head." Ray wrenched the car to the curb. 

"That's such an odd phrase, Ray." 

"Fraser!" 

"Understood." Fraser groaned, "Oh, dear, please...." He gagged and groped for the door handle. 

"Out, out," Ray screamed. "Belt, belt," he amended when he realized Fraser was hung up in seat belt. Both men fumbled for the release. Ray hit the button and pushed his friend out of the car. Fraser landed in an untidy heap just clear of the door, but managed to crawl well away from the GTO before the evening's transgressions spewed out of his abused insides. 

Ray waited until the retching had stopped before hopping out to lend a hand. "Uh, sorry, Fraser," he said sincerely when he saw the Mountie's dark head bowed over his knees. 

"Something I ate seems to have disagreed with me, Ray," the Mountie said carefully. 

"More like something you drank," Ray muttered. He put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You gonna be okay, Fraser?" 

"In a minute, I think," the Mountie answered doubtfully. 

Ray felt the muscles beneath his hand tremble slightly. "Here, let me help you back to the car, buddy." 

The rest of the trip to the apartment was mercifully uneventful. Ray kept a nervous eye on his partner, fearful there would be another vomiting episode, but Fraser remained quietly puddled in the passenger seat with his head leaning against the cool side window glass. 

"We're here, Fraser," Ray shook his partner's arm. 

"Okay." There was no movement. 

"Fraser?" 

"Here where?" the Canadian asked gingerly moving his eyes back and forth, but leaving his head plastered against the window. 

"In front of my apartment. You're spending the night at my place," Ray explained. 

"Oh." There was no movement. 

"Fraser, you have to get out of the car." 

"Of course." There was no movement. 

"Fraser!" 

"Yes, Ray?" 

"Get out of the car." 

"You don't have to get huffy, Ray." There was no movement. 

The detective stifled his exasperation as he got out of the GTO, circled around to his partner's door and pulled it open. One hundred and eighty pounds of Mountie spilled onto the sidewalk at Ray's feet. Ray was too surprised to catch him. "Oh, sorry, Fraser." 

It was an arduous trip to the apartment. Fraser's coordination had gone south by way of some "special Kentucky apples" and Ray found himself half carrying, half dragging the Canadian up the stairs. 

"I should go to the Consol...the Consul...my house. Well, it's not tech...nically....my house, but... I have duties....responsss...ibilities," the Mountie protested feebly. 

"The Canadian government won't collapse if you're not there in the morning, Fraser. Your duties can wait. B'sides, I gotta a feeling you're not gonna be feeling like performing any of the Ice Queen's little chores come morning." 

"Ray, that's my ssssu...perior you're referring to," Fraser said indignantly. "She happens to be a very fine offi..ccccer with a lot of..." 

"Don't care, Fraser." Ray used one arm to hold the Mountie against the wall while he fumbled the key into the lock. "Okay, we're in, buddy. Let's get you to the couch," Ray grunted with the effort. 

Fraser flopped bonelessly onto the cushions. His legs splayed out in front of him and his slouch had a definite tilt to the right. "Thank you kindly," he murmured, closing his eyes. 

Ray went into the bathroom and grabbed a bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet. "Better give him three," he calculated and went to get a glass of water for his charge. 

"Fraser. Fraser. Fraser. Fraser." 

One reddened blue eye peeked open. "You gotta take these," Ray insisted 

"I don't take drugs," Fraser argued. 

"Yeah, and you don't do alcohol or tobacco either....here." Ray shoved the pills into his partner's hand. 

Fraser stared at the aspirin for a few minutes, then shrugged and popped them in his mouth. "They taste terrible, Ray" he complained, chewing the tablets pensively. 

"Shit, Fraser, you're supposed to swallow them." Ray thrust the water glass at him. 

"Oh." 

"Come on, let's get your boots off and get you comfortable," Ray directed after he retrieved the glass. "I'll help you." 

"Ray," Fraser said with a show of dignity, "I can take my own boots off." He managed one before he slumped over and closed his eyes again. 

"Yeah, whatever. Sleep it off, party boy," Ray chuckled and went into his bedroom to change clothes. A glance at the clock told him it was close to 5:00. 'I'll get Fraser really settled, call the Consulate, call the Precinct and then grab some shut-eye.' He had just finished pulling on his favorite tee-shirt for sleeping when he heard a panicky "Oh, dear" from the living room. 

"Bathroom!" Ray shouted and raced out into the hall in time to see Fraser make an unsteady turn into the room in question. As the unmistakable sound of violent heaving floated down the corridor, Ray prayed his partner had gotten to the toilet in time. The detective peered around the bathroom door jamb and saw the Mountie had ignored the toilet and was now draped inelegantly over the side of the bathtub. "At least it's not the floor," Ray sighed. "I'm getting you some water to rinse your mouth, Fraser," Ray said to this partner's back. 

"Thank..." another gag cut off the rest. 

When Ray returned with the water he found the Canadian wedged in a semi-upright position between the tub and the toilet. His head lay heavily against the side of the toilet tank. His eyes were open in a fixed, dazed stare. 

Ray felt a wild desire to laugh as he looked at his bedraggled partner. It was hard to equate this pathetic creature sprawled on his bathroom floor with his prim, proper RCMP issue friend or even the smooth, graceful Benito of earlier. Fraser's hair stood out in wild disarray, one suspender had fallen down past his elbow, his undershirt was hitched up high on one side and he only had that one boot on. 

'I'm laughing with you, Fraser,' Ray thought, though he seriously doubted the Mountie would find any humor in the situation. Ray choked back a laugh as he knelt down to offer his partner the water. Fraser raised his eyes and looked at Ray with such misery that the detective immediately felt a surge of compassion that doused the rising hilarity. 

"Oh, damn, Fraser. Puking's the pits. Are you over it? Can you walk? Let's get you back to the couch." 

"I feel like I've been trampled by that musk ox again, Ray," Fraser moaned. 

"You were run over by a musk ox?" Ray asked incredulously. 

"Yes, Ray." 

"Yeah, you would feel crummy after somethin like that." 

"Yes, Ray." 

They were halfway back to the living room, when the Mountie stopped and leaned his head against the wall. "You gonna be sick again?" Ray asked anxiously. 

"No, Ray," Fraser whispered. 

"What's wrong, buddy?" 

"I'm all tilted. I can't walk straight. Ray, something dreadful has happened to me." The Canadian gave his friend a stricken look. 

Ray felt the laughter burbling up again, but tamped it down. "Uh, maybe it has something to do with the fact that you only have one boot on," Ray pointed out gently. 

The Mountie dropped his head and stared at his feet for a long minute. "Oh. Never mind." He straightened his shoulders and continued to make his lopsided way down the hall. 

In another fifteen minutes, Fraser was stretched out on the couch, de-booted, re-aspirined, wrapped in a quilt Ray's mother had made, and snoring softly. Ray looked at his friend and smiled. In the vulnerable state of sleep, the Mountie was the picture of little-boy innocence. There was no sign of the smouldering, sexy Benito. Ray re-positioned the empty metal wastebasket designated as an emergency sickness receptacle. 

"Sweet dreams, Fraser." 

Ray made his phone calls, cleaned up the bathtub, finished getting himself ready and finally, gratefully collapsed into his bed. It was 6:05. He'd been up for close to 24 hours. "Need my beauty sleep," he yawned. "Also need my strength to nurse Fraser through his first hangover." The detective felt a twinge of sympathy as he envisioned the Mountie prostrate with a pounding head and aching body brought on by too much alcohol. Ray yawned again and hugged his pillow. His last conscious thought was of Fraser begging to be put out of his misery. 

"Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray." 

The detective burrowed deeper into his bed trying to get away from the voice that buzzed like a mosquito in his ears. 

"Ray. Ray...." 

"Go away," Ray snarled. At least that's what he meant to say. He wasn't sure it came out as much more than an angry string of unintelligible syllables. He didn't care. 

"Ray. Ray..." 

"Leave me alone," the detective groaned and stuffed his head under the pillow. 

"Ray." The pillow was pried away. "You have to get up, Ray." The voice was insistent. 

"I have a gun. I will shoot you if you don't go away," Ray threatened, pulling the covers over his head. 

"No, you won't," Fraser said confidently. 

"Yes, I will. What time is it?" Ray's voice was muffled by the blanket. 

"It's 9:30. You have to go to work," Fraser elaborated. "I have to be at the Consulate by 11:00." 

Ray sighed with the passion of a long-suffering martyr. He un-buried himself enough to uncover his mouth and one eye which he blinked furiously against the morning brightness. 

"We are not working today. I called us out. You're sick," Ray spoke slowly and deliberately. 

"But, Ray, I feel fine," the Mountie protested. 

"Huh?" Ray shifted the blanket and squinted up at his partner. 'Damn it, he does look fine,' he thought, taking in Fraser's freshly scrubbed appearance. The Mountie's hair was washed and neatly combed, his clothes somehow appeared fresh and crisp and he was looking at Ray with his usual alert expression. 

Ray was confused. "You were pretty sick a couple of hours ago. And, considering last night, you should be a hurting unit right now." 

Fraser frowned. "Well, yes, I did eat something that disagreed with me, but it has passed and I feel fine now," he proclaimed. 

"Good for you, Fraser, but we're still not working today. I'm dead here. I need sleep," Ray stated and reclaimed his pillow. He scrunched back down in his bed. "Gimme a coupla hours. Go watch TV or rearrange the living room or something." 

"Ray, I ......" 

"Fraser, if you want to live, leave me alone," Ray yelled. 

"You're very cranky in the morning, Ray," Fraser observed. "Perhaps, if you cut back on your caffeine input during the day, it would help." 

"Fraser!" 

"Understood." 

The next time Ray looked at the clock it was 11:55. He yawned and stretched. He could hear the TV playing softly in the living room. That meant his partner was still in the apartment. It was tempting to roll over and grab another hour of sleep. He deserved and needed it, but his conscience nagged him into getting up and checking on Fraser. 

Ray padded down the hall and peeked into the living room, mentally noting the new positioning of the furniture. The Mountie was perched on the edge of the couch, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his knees. He was focused intently on the television. 

"Watching something interesting, Fraser?" Ray yawned. 

"Good morning, Ray! Yes, actually. Viki may have cancer, but she doesn't want her husband to come back to her if she's sick. Dorian is leaving town with Drake which has her family quite distressed. In the meantime, Sam thinks he can use Skye to prove that Max is faking his medical condition. And Skye has just....." 

"Fraser, what are you watching?" Ray demanded. 

"I don't know, Ray, but it's quite riveting." 

The detective sighed loudly and headed for the bathroom. "Back in a jif," he called over his shoulder. 

When Ray returned, he found the TV off and Fraser, in the kitchen, humming as he prepared what appeared to be an omelet. 

"Ouch, damn it," Ray swore, hopping slightly in reaction to the hard thump of his shin against one of the living room end tables. "Why'd you move this here, Fraser?" 

"Oh, sorry, Ray. I thought it would allow better flow through the apartment. There's a fresh pot of coffee on the counter, Ray," the Mountie said with a bright smile. "I'll have your breakfast ready momentarily." 

"Uh, thanks, Frase." Ray helped himself to a steaming cup of java. "Ahh, needed that," the detective moaned after he swallowed his first sip. "How are you feeling?" 

"Quite well, thank you," said Fraser, cheerfully. He slid half the omelet onto a plate and put it down on the small round table Ray used for eating. He handed his partner a fork and a paper towel and waved him to a table chair. 

"This is good," Ray garbled through a full mouthful of egg when his partner joined him at the table. 

"I'm glad, Ray. I had to improvise somewhat. I wasn't sure if the....." 

Ray cut him off. "Don't tell me. Just let me enjoy this and pretend it's full of stuff I like." 

"As you wish, Ray." 

The men ate in companionable silence with Ray casting furtive glances at his friend. 'He's got to be faking it. There's no way he's not suffering with a killer headache or something.' The detective was amazed at his partner's recuperative powers. Ray finished his meal and started on his second cup of coffee. "So, Fraser, did you sleep all right?" 

"Well, I did have the most extraordinary dreams, Ray," the Mountie responded, running a nervous knuckle along his eyebrow. 

Ray laughed. "Did it involve dancing and a couple of foxy ladies?" Ray watched for his friend's reaction. He wasn't disappointed. 

Fraser's eyes widened in disbelief and a hot pink flush crept up his neck. "Ah, well....yes, actually. How did you know?" the Mountie asked suspiciously. 

'Oohh, I'm going to enjoy this,' Ray thought and proceeded to regale his partner with the story of Benito, the salsa dance king, purveyor of bawdy limericks and songs, and all round party guy. 

"Ray! You're making this up. I would never do anything like that," the Mountie objected, his face a deep scarlet with embarrassment. Shock gave Fraser that frozen deer-in-the-headlights look. 

It was tempting to continue the tormenting, but his partner looked so distraught by these revelations that Ray decided not to mention the mailbox incident right then. "It's the truth, I swear. That little rat ass Dewey was spiking your cider." 

Fraser dropped his head into his hands. "I'm sorry, Ray," he lamented. 

"Huh? For what?" Ray was puzzled 

"I've humiliated you, the Chicago PD, the RCMP and myself. How can I ever face my colleagues again?" The Mountie looked up. His expression was so woebegone that Ray felt guilty. 

Ray leaned over and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Whoa, buddy, don't go whipping up on yourself like this. It's okay. Really. The truth is I was kinda proud of you. You can really dance, partner, and everybody was having a good time. You didn't do anything to be ashamed of," Ray tried to assure him. 'The mailbox is history. Our little secret, Frase,' he resolved to himself. 

"I'm not kidding, Fraser," Ray continued out loud. "It makes you more human. I mean, here's super Mountie being just a regular guy. People like that. People relate to that. It's nice to know you can carry on and drink and smoke just like everyone else." 

"I was smoking?" the Mountie asked in horror, his hand instinctively reaching for his throat. 

"Yeah, well, don't sweat it. I don't think you blackened your lungs or anything. Look, I'm telling you, everything is good. You made some new friends and proved that even Canadians can have fun." Ray shot his friend a big grin. 

Fraser still looked doubtful, but he managed a small answering smile. 

"Hey, I'm going to grab a shower and get dressed. Do not touch the dishes. I don't want my water pressure going all funky," Ray said. He stood up and stretched. "If I'm not out in 20 minutes, send in one of those Baywatch babes or maybe," he couldn't help himself, "one of your dancing partners." 

"Raaayyy!" 

The End 


End file.
